


No Exceptions

by beatriceHB



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, also some not quite non-con but getting there, warnings re memories of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 03:09:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10480776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beatriceHB/pseuds/beatriceHB
Summary: A few years before Silver meets 'Blackbeard' at the brothel, Billy endures his own pirate initiation.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Meglifluous came up with the idea for this and I couldn't stop thinking about it, so here it is. It follows our Born to Bosun fic, which is also on here somewhere...

**No Exceptions**

From the bed, the women stare at Billy. The window behind them is shuttered even though it’s still early, and the air in the room is close and unbreathable. Candles cover every surface but only manage to give a murky light. Billy takes a clumsy step backwards and collides with the door, the one his crewmates have just closed behind him. Their sniggering is still audible on the landing, along with the fiddle music drifting up from the bar below.

Flint is down there somewhere. Their eyes briefly connected as Billy was marched upstairs. The sight of his Captain was reassuring, it gave his crewmates’ bullshit story some credence; if one Captain comes here, why not another? But now that he’s on his own, inside this room, with all these women, it’s obvious to Billy that he’s been had. There are no Captains waiting for him here. 

One of the women, the one with long black hair, detaches herself from the heap of half-dressed bodies and swaggers towards him; she is barely older than Billy but she radiates a sulky kind of confidence. Her dark eyes are mocking. 

He clears his throat, "I was told..." his voice comes out strangled and high-pitched, "I was told that Blackbeard wanted to see me?” Now that he says it out loud, he notices how ridiculous it sounds. 

The women on the bed giggle behind their hands, but the swaggering girl just rolls her eyes. With her hands on her hips, she speaks to him slowly, as though explaining a difficult concept to a child. 

“Do you think that’s true?” 

He sighs. “Not any more.”

She grins and calls over her shoulder to the others. “He’s quicker than he looks!”

Billy’s cheeks flush crimson and he crosses his arms defensively. It’s only a bit of good-natured teasing. Jesus, he’s taken worse than this on the ship this morning. But the things that give him confidence in this world – his crew’s reputation, his own skill as a sailor and a fighter, orders to follow – those things mean nothing in here. In here, he feels like an ill-favoured dog, separated from the pack and cornered by cats.

“How many times, Idelle.” Someone else is speaking now, she sounds French, or something like. “Are you so intent on making sure he won’t ask for you the next time he comes?” 

Billy risks a glance in this other woman’s direction. Her eyes are heavily-ringed with khol and her gestures are soft and feminine. She smiles encouragingly, wrinkling her nose. “Come here,” she pats a space on the bed beside her, “sit down.” 

He obeys, hesitantly, sitting down beside her and wincing as the bedsprings groan under his weight. He’s such a hulking great thing next to these tiny creatures, with their doll faces and their thin little arms. His body makes such a dent in the mattress that the girls roll, laughing, against him. Their warm flesh squashes against his hands. He swallows and tucks them beneath him.

“Will you tell me your name?”

“Billy Bones.” It sounded so good on the ship. In here it sounds… daft, suddenly. She makes no comment though.

“My name is Max.”

“Max… right.” 

“And this,” she wafts her hand vaguely in the direction of the other girls, “is Idelle, Charlotte…” She continues but Billy stops listening, he knows he won’t remember anyway. When she’s finished listing their names, she strokes his face with the back of her hand. “Do you know what this place is?” 

“Yes.”

Who wouldn’t? He’d led a cloistered life in London but you couldn’t be a boy in that city and not know something about brothels. The older boys had been full of stories about what went on in them and he’d giggled along, understanding little of what they said but carefully storing it all away. What terrifies him now, is that he can’t call the _Walrus_ men his brothers until he’s got his own brothel story to tell. Pirate initiation, they’d said. No exceptions, they’d said. Probably he’s supposed to fuck. That would make sense. 

He takes a deep breath to steady himself but his lungs just fill up with perfume, thick and cloying. The back of his neck beads with sweat. He longs to throw the windows open and let in some air. Air with the tang of salt on it. Air that he can breathe. 

On the _Colchester_ , the Royal Navy ship from which Flint rescued Billy so recently, sex had nothing to do with soft beds and flowery smells. It happened in cold, hard places, and smelled of mildew and tar and men. And it came in two kinds: the kind you want but can’t have – not without risk, anyway - and the kind you don’t want but can’t refuse. He hadn’t wanted the Sailing Master to lay a finger on him. Hadn’t invited it or enjoyed it. But as the thing had gone on, as the months had passed, Billy had come to rely on the extra food rations that were saved for him and the beatings he was spared. The Sailing Master’s weakness was something Billy could exploit to his benefit, and he had. It was the only power he’d had in the world. 

“Are you listening to me at all?” Max takes his hand and playfully smacks it, then gently prizes open the fist he has unwittingly clenched. He looks at her sideways… here’s another seasoned exploiter of male weakness. He wonders if her story is not dissimilar to his. 

“Listening? Yeah... definitely.” _Please don’t ask me what you just said._

She bites her lip, “I was just explaining the rules.” 

He gives her a blank look. 

“I was telling you that they bring all the new men to us… to all of us.”

Anxiously, Billy does a quick head-count. Seven. Seven girls. He swallows. 

“Next time you come here, you can see me on my own…”

“Or me,” Idelle cuts in.

“You can see any of us… next time,” Max concedes, a little reluctantly. “But the first time, you will see all of us together.”

“Why?!”

Her shoulders convulse with laughter but she kills the sound of it in her mouth, “does it sound so terrible?”

_Yes._

She smiles and slides her hand up his arm to his bicep, looking at him meaningfully as she squeezes the muscle there. “It has to be this way,” she explains, “look at you and look at me. I can’t be alone with you until I know what kind of man you are.”

Billy presses his lips tightly together, fearing that he might tell her. That would put her right at ease, wouldn’t it? Part of him wants to curl up with his head in her lap and tell her everything, but he knows better than to do it. And anyway, he doesn’t really know what sort of man he is. Not for certain. Perhaps you need to be around women a bit before you can want them? Since he’s been old enough to think that way, all he’s seen is other men. 

In the _Colchester_ ’s landsmen berth the threats of punishment had sometimes been ignored. Lust had found a way. Billy was far from being the only one who’d done it. Handjobs mostly. Blowjobs now and then. The other lads had seemed to need it just as much as he did, but there were differences that worried him. The others sometimes whispered about the officers’ wives, or each other’s wives, or whores they’d had, to help them on their way, but their fantasies had never worked for Billy. His had mostly been about the _Colchester_ ’s Armourer, even though the only words the man had ever spoken to him were “get out of my fucking way!”

“Oh… fuck.”

There’s a sudden, soft weight on his groin. A small and mischievous foot. His cock stiffens immediately. Any pressure will do it. His eyes sweep up the leg to which it belongs and discover a sleepy-eyed girl with elaborately-dressed blonde hair. She’s grinning at him, knowingly. 

“I’m sorry… I…” He tenses and half stands, but the women sweetly protest and seven pairs of hands pull him back down again. Confusion furrows his brow and makes him sweat harder. He should be happy that he’s hard, shouldn’t he? How else is he going to get this thing done? But instead his cheeks burn with embarrassment. The blonde girl seems unfazed though – he notices, to his alarm, that her gaze has some genuine heat in it. She just puts her foot right back where it was and presses it against his erection, kneading him lazily. 

“That’s the idea…” she says, breathily, “that’s what we need.” 

“I bet I can make it harder…” Billy’s head whips around like lightning, his battle senses kicking in. There’s another girl approaching, but this one speaks her words falteringly, like a player reading her lines for the first time. She’s young and anxious-looking, with a full mouth and a sprinkling of dark freckles all over her face. Sitting down beside him – the side unclaimed by the blonde - she rests her head on his shoulder and begins shyly unbuttoning his shirt. Her hands are cold, despite the heat. And there are hands near his feet too, sliding his boots off. He doesn’t know which girl they belong to. None of them seem to think that they need his permission, and though part of him wants to bat them away and snap “fuck off!” another part feels relieved. Perhaps it will be enough to just lay here and let the girls take care of everything?

He desperately wants that to be true, but the queasy feeling in his guts tells him that he doesn’t really believe it. This is some kind of test, that’s what it is. But what the fuck will his brothers consider a pass, and more importantly, what will they designate a fail? It won’t be enough to just sit here, make conversation for an hour and then leave, of that he’s certain. But what will be enough? Does he need to fuck all seven of them, properly, like… coming every time? Or will five do? Or three maybe? What about blowjobs, or handjobs, do they count as much as a fuck? And does he need to do it with enthusiasm, or can he just get the job done quick and then get out?  


So many questions and no fucking answers. But the stakes couldn’t be higher. It’s too easy to picture Max’s soft, persuasive voice whispering to his crewmates that he’s not fit to join them, that he’s not _Walrus_ material, whatever that is. Panic rises in his throat. It can’t be allowed to happen, it just can’t. The few short weeks he’s been on the _Walrus_ have been the happiest of his life. All the value, all the status, all the joy he now has is dependent on his position in the crew. Without the esteem and support of those men, he’s nothing. His mouth fills with the taste of vinegar and his stomach lurches, painfully.

“How young _are_ you?” Max asks, a frown creasing her brow. 

He swallows, trying out different numbers in his head. Eventually he decides that the truth will serve him best. “Sixteen.”

“Oh!” 

They seem surprised. Pleased even. The younger ones visibly relax. Idelle and the freckled girl work together to pull his shirt off, smiling and murmuring approval as they do it. “Big for your age, aren’t you? I made you twenty at least!” When his chest is bare, their hands rush in to touch it. Which feels nice, but frustratingly gentle. A bit ticklish. They try to push him onto his back and he lets them do it, too uncertain of himself to resist. _If in doubt, do as you’re told._ He notices that the ceiling above the bed is stained and flaking. There’s a pattern of mould up there that looks a bit like the constellation of Orion. He can’t seem to take his eyes off it.

“You can touch us, you know?” Idelle pokes her face into his line of sight. She’s on all fours above him, her knees planted either side of his hips. Her long, shiny hair spills all over his face, gets into his eyes. “We won’t break.”

It hasn’t even occurred to him to touch her. Where though? Where do people usually touch them? She straightens up and looks down at him, raising an eyebrow at the hands that he’s still holding stiffly at his sides. After a long moment of deliberation, he puts one hand delicately on her waist. She shoots a glance at Max and the other girl nods and struggles to her feet, “I’ll get him a drink.” 

Anxiously, Billy watches Max cross the room. Is this going wrong? Is he failing already? She opens the door a fraction, letting in a raucous blast of noise from downstairs; giggles and slaps and male voices singing bawdy songs. It’s like a prayer meeting in here, by comparison. He can’t catch what she says to the men outside but he can hear their answering cries of “dutch courage!” and “get in there Billy boy!” His heart stops dead. All the energy drains out of his cock. It slumps against his leg, defeated.

“Fuck them,” Idelle takes hold of his chin and pulls it back, making him look up at her. “Everyone needs a drink the first time, none of them were any different.” Immediately he wonders how the Captain fared during his initiation. He pictures Flint in here, the women slowly stripping him as they breathlessly await his commands… “They shouldn’t have brought you in sober,” Idelle continues, waking Billy from his reverie, gently lowering herself into his lap. “Don’t know what they were thinking. Help me with this?” She takes his hands and lifts them to her chest. He tries to focus on her, on what she’s asking of him, but his mind keeps drifting. He grips the material tighter, forcing himself to see it. What is it? Some kind of shirt, black and almost transparent. A few buttons are done up over her breasts, but mostly it’s held together with a belt. Beneath it he can see the shadow of her underwear, black and frilled. “I was hoping you’d help me to take it off?” She prompts.

“Oh… yeah, right.”

He does as she’s asked, starting at her throat and working his way down, baring more and more pale skin as he goes. And as he comes closer to exposing her breasts, he discovers that his heart is beating harder; he’s almost excited. Isn’t this what the other men talk about so much? They never shut up about them! The size and shape and feel of every pair they’ve ever seen or held. He unclasps her belt and drops it over the side of the bed, then reaches for the last two buttons, tiny, fiddly things. _Perhaps when I see them and hold them I’ll understand. Perhaps I’ll want them just as badly, and I’ll get hard, and I’ll fuck her, and I’ll fuck all of them, and I’ll pass the test, and my brothers will accept me for ever, and everything will be all right…_

The last button pops, the gauzy material falls away, and Billy holds his breath for a moment. Then sighs, heavily. His eyes rove despairingly over their plump curves, their hard, pink nipples. He watches her hands slide over them, squeezing them together. He looks at them long and hard, but feels nothing besides mild curiosity. They don’t seem to mean any more to him than her knees, nose, or ears. He doesn’t desire them at all. Disappointment settles heavily on his chest like a sack of flour. He knows he needs to hide it. 

He has always lied, or kept silent, about his real desires. Just once he spoke about it honestly, with another pressed man a few years older. This man had been married at sixteen and told Billy that he’d anticipated his wedding night with wild excitement, certain that when he finally took his bride to bed all of his inexplicable desires would be gone. But in the event, he’d found himself miserably bored, and a bit disgusted. Billy felt sure that if he’d been married in London - and no doubt he would have been, regardless of his wishes - things would have gone a similar way on his wedding night.

“Now it’s a party…” 

Max strides over to the bed with a bottle in her hand. She drinks from it first, then smiles and holds it out to him. He gulps from it gratefully, closing his eyes as the spirit pours, hot and stinging, down his throat. Its welcome warmth reaches his extremities almost immediately. He remembers that he hasn’t eaten today.

“Oh, oh.. not too much…”

He doesn’t want to give the bottle up, but she gently insists, prying it from his fingers and placing it just out of reach. Then she climbs back onto the bed and stretches out beside him, casually unclasping her corset as she does so. He looks, he can’t help it, but her breasts, too, leave him unaffected. Still he reaches out to touch them, forcing himself to try a little harder, fumbling inside his mind for thoughts that might help. _I shouldn’t be doing this, this is a sinful thing that I’m doing._ It helps a bit. His cock pulses as he runs a thumb across her nipple, which hardens at his touch. She draws closer, sighing, kissing his neck and shoulders.

“I’ll kill you, you fucking cunt!” The women don’t react at all but Billy’s head snaps around like a whip. A fight is starting, outside; he can hear fists connecting with bone, glass shattering. His whole body tenses up, ready to run. He wants to throw open the shutters and see what’s going on. Fuck it, he wants to be out there throwing punches! What if _Walrus_ men are involved?

“It’s not your problem, not today.” Max lays a restraining hand on his chest, forcing him to relax his head back onto the pillow. Idelle follows her lead, leaning forward so that her breasts are hovering above his face. “Plenty of time for fighting later.” His eyes stay fixed on the shuttered window, though, until Idelle lowers herself down yet further, pushing a nipple against his mouth. He stops breathing and squeezes his lips together, embarrassed down to his toes. His groin goes numb. Eventually she straightens up and looks down at him, quizzically.

 _Shit! Definitely failing now, need to get stuck in._ He reaches for her thighs, they seem to trouble him less, and runs a hand up one of them until it meets the leg band of her underwear. He’s curious about what lies beyond the barrier but not enough to breach it. After a moment, his hesitant hand is joined by another much more ardent hand. A girl with a slight, almost boyish, body has moved up close behind Idelle and is caressing her too; cupping her breasts with enthusiasm, and then sliding a hand down inside Idelle’s underwear. It looks rehearsed, and they both keep looking at him to gauge his reaction, but there’s a colour in Idelle’s cheeks which suggests to Billy that she doesn’t dislike this show. She relaxes against the skinny girl, turns her head towards her, and they kiss. 

And now Billy’s eyes pop wide; it’s something he’s never done, not like that. Never even seen it happen. He watches breathlessly as their lips brush lightly together and their tongues softly touch. Idelle looks sideways at him, then takes the kiss deeper and harder, encouraged by his rapt attention, sensing that, perhaps, she has finally struck gold. He can’t get over how intimate it looks, and how intense. He’s never even looked in a man’s eyes when they were… it just isn’t a thing you do. But kissing like that… he lifts a finger to his own mouth, stroking it along his lower lip… that’s not something he could ever do lightly. And the moment he thinks those words, his imagination sails away on them…

> He’s back on the ship, back in Flint’s cabin. There’s a bottle on the desk between them and Billy can taste red wine in his mouth. He’s holding the articles in his hand, should be studying them like the Captain told him too, but all he can do is gaze into those hard green eyes. Eyes that are studying him so intensely.
> 
> Flint hands him a quill. When he speaks, his voice is soft. “You don’t have to sign your real name.” 

Billy gasps, and flushes. The memory was so vivid, the voice so clear. He tears his eyes from Idelle and searches the room, wondering if Flint has stealthily entered. But there’s no sign of the man. A terrible emptiness opens inside him, yearning to be filled.

Beside him Max whispers, “would you like me to…" but before she can finish her sentence, Billy grips the hair at the nape of her neck and forces their mouths together. He kisses her hard, without any style or subtlety, just pure desperation. She doesn’t fight it. Instead, she opens her mouth to him and lets him plunge around with his tongue, ineffectually, trying to spark some kind of connection. Almost as soon as he’s started, he realises that it’s not working. He needs someone to match him but she keeps giving way. The harder he goes, the softer she becomes. There’s no heat or intensity in it. Why would there be? She’s a stranger. She’s no one at all. He might as well be kissing the pillow beneath her head. But it’s intimacy of a kind. It’s something. It’s better than nothing. 

And he’s afraid to stop now that he’s started. He needs to buy some time, try to revive his withered erection. Maybe if he can get his hand down under Idelle, give it a bit of help…? Because if he can’t get it hard again... if he can’t... In his head, Billy pictures Max striding out onto the landing and then jerking her thumb downward like the roman emperors did. He pictures all the men jeering and rushing up the stairs, dragging him out of here, throwing him into the street. All on his own, no more _Walrus_. And Flint is with them, laughing, his arm around some girl. _Fuck!_

At the sound of the Captain’s laughter drifting up the stairs – he can’t tell, now, if it’s real or imagined – Billy becomes frantic. He’s going to make a mess of this, he knows it. And even if they don’t throw him off the crew, they’ll still make him suffer for it. Men pass judgement on each other so quickly. One embarrassing incident is all it takes. They’ll come up with their own names for him… horrible, piss-taking names. Billy Bones will be dead and gone. _Fuck, fuck fuck!_

His hands dart out everywhere, clinging wherever they find soft, warm flesh. Kneading it desperately. Begging it to excite him. He forces his limp dick against hips and thighs and anything that might wake it. And when Max finally pulls away to breathe, valiantly maintaining her smile, his mouth finds other mouths; Idelle… someone else… someone else… whoever the fuck. They don’t want him to do it, though, keep turning their heads away. So he pulls them closer to him, as close as he can get them. It’s like trying to draw a week’s worth of nourishment from a bowl of thin potage, but he keeps going. He pulls Idelle down on top of him, and another girl, and another one. Gets his arms around all three of them and runs his hands down their backs, over their curves. It’s better when they’re this close; he can feel them more than he can see them. And once he’s felt their warm skin against his own, he needs more of it. Tearing off every piece of fabric that stands in his way. Every button and bow and clasp his fingers find, he has them all undone.

The women, too, adopt his new, urgent pace. Touching each other, touching him; a writhing and giggling mass, he can’t tell where each girl begins and ends. And he doesn’t much care. They keep saying their lines. He’d prefer them quiet.

“Good with your hands, aren’t you...”

“Isn’t he?”

One of them works his belt undone and another tugs his trousers off, exposing his flaccid member. Panicking, he tries to reach it, then to conceal it, but other, smaller hands find it first. They close around its soft, sleeping length. His hands go limp at his sides and his stomach drops. Could he pretend to have a fit? Could he make himself throw up? They can’t expect a sick man to be hard! Or what if he kills them all, all seven of them, right now? Then at least he’d be a successful murderer instead of just a useless fuck! Would that be a pass or a fail? _Jesus Christ Almighty!_ He closes his eyes and his lips move soundlessly, a kind of prayer, willing himself on…  


_I’m a pirate and I’m going to fuck all these whores._

“He’s er…”

“What?”

“Look.”

“Oh… bless.”

_I’m going to fuck them all, because that’s what pirates do, they fuck whores._

“Charlotte, could you please…?”

_And I’m a pirate, so I’m going to fuck them._

“With pleasure!”

There’s a renewed burst of giggling, and then a mouth closes languidly around his cock. Billy gasps and opens his eyes. It’s the blonde girl, the one with the foot. Her head is resting on his thigh, her hair splayed out across his stomach. Her eyes are still sleepy, almost drugged, but with no less heat in them than earlier. Her mouth is warm and gentle. She sucks him slowly, making no effort at all, behaving as though they have all the time in the world. One hand plays with his balls, absentmindedly, while the other wanders over the taught ridges of his stomach. She doesn’t seem to care that he’s not hard… doesn’t seem bothered at all… Her calm confidence is reassuring. Billy feels some of the tension leave his body, and some of the fear. Maybe he's not the first to... struggle? Maybe this girl has seen it all before? Maybe she can fix everything? As she continues to work on him, his eyes are drawn back to Idelle. She’s laying beside him and the skinny girl is straddling her. As Billy watches they kiss again. His curious eyes linger on the skinny girl’s breasts, all nipple, like two peas on a board. Perhaps a girl like that would suit him better? He can't stop staring. “Mmmm…” Charlotte tugs at his attention with a theatrical moan. It reverberates up through his abdomen. “Mmmm,” she continues, and finally, thank fuck, he starts to feel something. Little bursts of pleasure, pulsing through his groin. There’s no real excitement in them, but it’s a start. He forces himself to pay attention to them, to feel them intensely. His cock begins to warm and swell and twitch upward. His body floods with relief. Soon Charlotte is forced up onto all fours; he’s almost respectably hard.

“Look at the size of him!”

“Told you he’d be in proportion.”

“You could do yourself an injury…”

More lines, Billy assumes, but flushes with pride anyway. He’s still wary of losing it, but his balls are aching encouragingly and his hips are moving of their own accord. He dares to hope that he’s turned a corner now. Thank fuck for that girl and her mouth! And she doesn’t let up, going harder and faster. As she pleasures him, Idelle and Max close in around his upper body, pressing their warm curves against him. Once or twice he catches a glimpse of his cock. It takes him by surprise… looks so huge in Charlotte’s small hands and her small mouth… is that really the size of him?! The longer he looks, the more it grows. His hands make fists in her hair. She releases him for a moment, catching her breath. 

“Don’t stop,” he moans, without quite intending to. Their eyes connect again. And now she changes tack… sliding her mouth down lower, onto his balls. Letting him see himself properly. Right up close to his ear, Max whispers, “are you ready to use it?”

_I fucking hope so._

He looks at Charlotte, expecting her to straddle him and get on with it. But instead she blows him a kiss and retreats to the foot of the bed. He frowns, confused. It’s not that he wanted to fuck her, not exactly. It’s just that it felt doable. But apparently that’s not the plan. Cursing inwardly, he wishes someone would just tell him the fucking plan, lay it out in nice clear steps so that he could work through it all methodically. There's no point giving a man a job to do if you're not going to tell him what's expected of him. Imagine trying to manage a deck like that, you'd be sunk before you knew it! These women must know what he needs to do here, what his brothers would consider a pass? Maybe he should ask them outright. Get some actual useful intel? But he can’t make his mouth form the words. Too embarrassed. And it’s not just Charlotte who has slipped away. He notices that the other women, too, seem suddenly to be busy with drinks, or their hair, or each other. Only Max is giving him all of her attention. _So that’s the plan._ She finds his hand and pulls it towards her, stroking it down her stomach and then sliding it between her legs, right into the dark confusion of her sex. He swallows and looks away; lets his fingers explore blindly, tentatively. There’s nothing familiar here at all. Nothing exciting either. Nothing he wants to know better. He freezes, making excuses.

“I… um… don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, don’t worry…” She parts her legs wider. “Come here.” 

He rolls over, clambering up onto all fours, then positions himself awkwardly, all knees and elbows, unsure where to put what. His whole body hums with anxiety, even his ears are ringing with it. Maybe there’s a bit of excitement too? He can’t really tell now. Beneath him, she’s arching her back encouragingly; one finger in her mouth, her eyes all coquettish. He tries to smile. Her inner thighs are mottled with bruises. He tries to forget them. Doesn’t want to think about how she got them. Needs to focus. Needs to manage this one fuck, at least. One fuck might be enough to scrape him through, who knows? Best get on with it while he still can. _Staying on the crew, that’s what this is all about. Think about that. Think about your brothers… getting drunk with them afterwards… feeling their big, strong hands patting your back._ Gritting his teeth, he lowers his body down, hoping for a lucky hit. His cock first bumps against her thigh, then against soft fuzz that won’t yield. He bites back a curse.

“Let me help,” he feels her hand around him, gently guiding him towards her, encouraging him in. She smiles. “There, that’s it.”

He pushes, tentatively, looking in her eyes for reassurance. Nothing gives. 

“Do it harder… it’s alright.”

He tries again, blushing at his clumsiness, and this time she grabs his buttocks and hooks her legs around the backs of his thighs, almost forcing him until “ahh!” she gasps theatrically as he enters her, then smiles up at him. “How does that feel?”

 _Wet. Is this really all it is?_

“You’re so big...”

Her voice sounds fake and weird. But there’s a reassuring pressure in his balls, getting stronger. His hips are moving of their own accord. At least this is some kind of release. At least this is something. _Something sinful and wrong. I’m a pirate and I’m fucking a whore._

“You can go harder if you want to…”

He does, bullying his cock to feel something. She continues to sigh and moan, almost convincingly, but he can’t stop hearing the creaking of the bed beneath them and the sedate banging of the headboard. Their lovemaking sounds apologetic. Boring even. 

“Am I doing… is this how it’s supposed to…?”

“You’re a natural, Billy.” 

He’d like to believe it, but he doesn’t. They are as close as two people can possibly be, and he’s never felt so lonely. That can’t be right. Behind him, he can hear the other girls chatting amongst themselves: “I’m not saying it isn’t a nice bracelet love, and I’m sure he meant well, but if that’s silver I’m a virgin!”

Should he try to kiss her again? He doesn’t really want to now. Should he try to do something for her? What though? His heart sinks yet further. He hates being a novice at anything, especially when it feels like he’ll never master it. Easier to just disengage altogether, escape into something familiar, something reliable. He buries his face in the pillow beside her head, nestling into her neck and screwing his eyes shut. And with a little imaginative effort the creaking bed becomes the groaning of timbers in the _Colchester’s_ storerooms, the banging headboard becomes the rhythmic drumming of approaching steps. _Get out of my fucking way… that’s the one, that’ll work…_  


> The Armourer approaches, stripped to the waist and sweating hard from his exertions, his cruel eyes gleaming in the half-light. Billy tries to make way for the man to pass him but the passageway is narrow and there’s no room. All he can do is cringe and wait.
> 
> The Armourer comes to a halt before him and looks at Billy with a leer. His hands close around Billy’s upper arms… _did they have that many rings?_... and push him up against the bulkhead, pinning him there with all of his weight. His muscular thigh presses into Billy’s groin, hard. Billy’s cock stiffens immediately. There’s no way the other man can’t feel it. He licks his lips and breathes hard into Billy’s face. 
> 
> “So… Mr. Gates tells me you’re lettered?” _What?_

“Hold it…” 

Billy groans into the pillow, forcing his hips to stay still. He was getting somewhere then, he didn’t want to come back. 

“Pace yourself, cherie.” Max’s whisper is so quiet that only he could possibly hear it. “You need to manage more than one.” Then, loud enough for the others to hear, she says “ready for another girl Billy?”

“Is he mine now?”

Billy rolls onto his back, sweating and frustrated, and finds Idelle kneeling beside him. _Oh shit._ She’s naked besides her stockings, which end in blue bows just above each knee. She reaches out a hand to pull him up and nearly topples over when he takes it. 

“Oh…steady!”

He looks pleadingly over his shoulder at Max, but she’s already wrapping a shawl around her body. The other girls too, just pout and smile before resuming their chatter.

“Do the men not get to choose,” he whispers urgently to Idelle, “which of you they… you know?” 

“When they’re paying, yeah. But you’re not, so it’s up to us.” 

With that, she bends forward slowly and gracefully until her forearms are resting on the bed and her bottom is sticking up in the air. She smirks over her shoulder at Billy, all rakish confidence. This must usually go down really well. He knows he’s supposed to stare, so he does, but at a small mole some distance down her thigh. Can’t bring himself to look directly at… 

“You know how there’s a pecking order on ships?” she says, eventually.

“Yeah.” 

“Well there’s a pecking order in brothels too.”

“He doesn’t need to know that Idelle.” Max’s tone is gently admonishing.

Idelle pouts. “Where’s the harm in him knowing?” She looks back at Billy, “Walrus men are good business. We all need to know what you like, and what you don’t. Me and her are the best earners, so we get first go. Now come here.” He’s unconsciously retreated to the foot of the bed, but shuffles closer at her prompting. Reaching behind her with a workmanlike little sigh of effort, she performs Max’s trick of taking hold of his cock and guiding him in. “Off you go then.”

Behind him, there’s a new eruption of giggling. Billy blushes violently. He’s pretty sure that most farmers mate their livestock with more dignity than she’s affording him. But it was a clear instruction and, he has to admit, that is exactly what he needs right now. He takes hold of her hips, gingerly, and starts to move, jerking himself into her with rhythm-less thrusts. He feels too exposed like this. Goosebumps prickle down his back. And he can’t get himself lined up with her properly, she’s too low somehow. Or he’s too high up. His knees are hurting. He gazes sullenly at the back of her head. On the other side of the wall, he can hear another man grunting, his body slapping against his partner. He sounds like he’s having a much better time of it. The thought makes Billy so miserably lonely it leaves him winded. 

Still, there’s nothing for it but to keep on, so he does. And her body is hugging him so tight that it starts to feel good, in a cold, mechanical way. Eventually he feels a welcome heat behind him, breasts pushing into his back, lips tickling the nape of his neck. The girl responsible puts her head on his shoulder and looks up at him lasciviously. Charlotte again. Lacing his fingers through hers, he pulls her arms around his chest, encouraging her to hold him, just grateful for the company. Idelle adjusts her position then, lowering herself face down on the bed and stretching her body out. Billy follows her down and Charlotte stays pressed into his back, still holding him tight. She’s no weight at all, and he finds that he likes being between them. One beneath him and one above. It’s comforting. The more his body is restrained, the easier it is for his mind to float freely. He closes his eyes and suddenly, without his consciously deciding to imagine it…

> The door explodes inward. “Thank you for your time, ladies, and your considerable efforts. But I believe I can take it from here.”
> 
> At Flint’s command the girls melt away like morning mist, leaving Billy naked and exposed on the bed. Flint strides in and settles himself in a chair, adopting his usual legs-spread slouch. He’s hard… impressively so… and making no attempt to conceal the fact. A half-smile plays around his lips as he eyes Billy’s shivering form. 
> 
> “Your initiation is going to be a bit different, Billy.” 
> 
> He beckons - the tiniest movement of one ring-laden finger – and Billy approaches, stopping just a few inches away. Flint leans forward slowly, places one hot hand in the small of Billy’s back and pulls him close. 
> 
> “Rules are rules,” he says, with a smirk, “and you’re mine.”
> 
> And then his hand slides down, over Billy’s buttocks, lingering there as his mouth closes around Billy’s member, taking him deep and hard from the off, showing him no quarter…

Billy hears a low moan and realises it’s coming from his own mouth. He’s fucking Idelle with some force now; she’s having to brace herself against the headboard. He tries to hold on to the sensation of her body, of Charlotte’s body above him, their voices, their scent, their softness. Anything to root him in the present moment. Where he was, that was embarrassing. Dangerous. Best left well alone, right? Definitely shouldn’t go back there. Don’t want to muddy the waters. Look up to the guy, that’s fine. Crave his good graces, why not? But try not to want… really shouldn’t want…

> … Flint disengages suddenly and leans back, his expression pensive. He looks away from Billy at first, but soon his eyes wander back - seemingly against his will - landing first on Billy’s thighs, then slowly drifting upward to his face. He holds Billy’s gaze for the longest time, then slowly begins unbuttoning his own shirt, then unbuckling his belt. He chin nods towards the bed.
> 
> “Go and lay down, on your stomach.”
> 
> Billy does, his arms folded beneath his chin. Behind him he can hear Flint removing his weapons, slowly and deliberately, laying them down carefully. He can feel the man’s eyes burning into him. Finally he feels the mattress dip beneath him as Flint joins him on the bed, feels the muscular weight of Flint’s body against his back, the warmth of Flint’s skin, the urgent pressure of Flint’s erection sliding down between his buttocks, the pressure growing stronger.
> 
> “Let’s see what kind of man you are…”

His climax is upon him in an instant, so hard it leaves him blinded and witless. He’d no idea it was even possible to come like that! And when the intensity fades, it leaves behind it the most complete, perfect calm. A calm that penetrates down to the core of his being. Billy looks around him in a daze, and finds the world transformed; Idelle, Charlotte, the other women, the whole room, everything is bright and friendly and safe. The feeling persists as he slides, panting, out of Idelle and onto his back; persists through the girls’ chattering and giggling – he can’t really hear it; persists as he reaches for the bottle on the bedside table and drains it in four huge gulps. Not because he needs it, this time, but because he feels like celebrating. He’s a _Walrus_ man!

Are these things reported to Flint, he wonders? And if they are… with what level of detail? He pictures Max on the Captain’s lap… no, not that close, sitting at the same table, that’s better… giving him a breathless description of Billy’s physical assets. The thought makes him giggle. Two girls… three if you count Charlotte’s mouth. That’s got to be a pass, surely? A weak pass maybe, but he’s fairly certain he can manage a couple more fucks, if required. Anything is possible. He feels his face begin to flush, not with embarrassment, or drink, but with an odd, buoyant feeling he has never felt before and can’t name. 

Full of warmth, he throws a heavy arm across Idelle’s body. He needs to crush someone in his arms, right now. She lets him keep her there for a moment, but then decorously wriggles free and makes for the dressing table. Her eyes are already absent, thinking on the rest of the day’s business. Now that he doesn’t need to fuck her he feels quite attached to the girl. He rolls onto his side and rests his head on his hand to look at her. She pulls on her underwear, then stands in front of the mirror, combing her hair with her fingers. He considers asking her to come back, but can’t make himself say the words. It’s just that he’d quite like to curl up around her and fall asleep, right now, just for a minute or two. The other girls could join them too, all of them just dozing here in a great big heap. 

Max stretches out beside him, filling the warm spot that Idelle has just left. “Look at you now, you’re a different boy altogether!” She puts her arms out and he finds himself moving closer to her, pressing his head against her chest, letting her hold him. She strokes her hand up and down his back, grazing him lightly with her fingernails. He shivers with pleasure, and exhales heavily. 

Jesus, though, what was that?! Does he really desire Flint, _that much?_ Just a few dreamt seconds of lust between them and look at the result! All of these women, their living hearts beating mere inches from his own, but none of them half so alive to him as a man who wasn’t even in the room. He’d known there was an attraction, that much was obvious, but that… what happened just then… that was… his thoughts unspool, words falling away from him and images rushing in to replace them. Now that the churn and turbulence in his mind is gone, now that the waters are still, all he can see is Flint’s image staring up at him from the bottom of the pool. There’s no denying, now, what the man means to him. Never mind that Flint is the most dangerous person for him to want, the most compromising lover he could dream of. _A whole ship full of pirates, a whole fucking island full of them, and you have to pick him._

What’s Flint’s name, he wonders… other than Flint? With a dreamy smile, he pictures the Captain sharing it with him; maybe in a tender moment, just the two of them. He throws a possessive leg over Max’s body and lets his mind drift for a while, imagining other ‘initiations,’ each more explicit than the last. He finds himself dwelling on the idea that the Captain might come to trust him, perhaps even care for him a little, maybe give him some kind of special status. What would that look like? Billy groans as a string of new fantasies develop, so pathetic he’s almost ashamed to give them headroom.

> “My spyglass needs oiling, Billy. See to it personally...
> 
> Clean my pistol, Billy, you know how I like it done…
> 
> Lick the tip of my quill, Billy, you always get the ink running…”

Over and over again, Billy submits to Flint, on decks and desks, beds and beaches; the scenery changing every moment, like sets in a play, but always the same two players, always the same scene. Always and always… Over and over…

  
*******  


The next thing he’s aware of is Max carefully sliding her arm out from underneath his sleeping head. After a moment of peaceful bewilderment, he remembers who, where and what he is, and his body wakes quick and hard. His neck is stiff and his back is cold. As Max untangles herself from him, he flushes with embarrassment to find himself still here, damn near suckling a woman he’s just met. How long has he lain like this? He scans the room and notices that there are fewer girls here now. Idelle has left, Charlotte too. Only Max and the young, freckled girl are still here. And the light is more feeble than ever. Have the candles guttered or is it that much later? The music downstairs is louder than ever; two fiddles going full pelt and feet stomping rhythmically. He shivers and wonders where his clothes are.

“How’s your appetite?” Max asks him.

“My what?”

She giggles, “do you still want company, Billy, or do you have places to go?”

He frowns and says nothing. There’s nowhere he _could_ go, beyond his berth on the _Walrus_. Would he rather be there or here? He doesn’t really know. _She should ask Flint, I don’t know what I want until he tells me._

“I tell you what,” she says, stroking his face. “I’ll leave Francoise here with you. You can stay here with her as long as you like, or be on your way. Whatever pleases you.” She turns away from him then and dresses herself with astonishing speed. In the doorway she pauses, making a graceful silhouette, and says, “next time will be easier, I promise. Remember to ask for me.” 

Billy rolls onto his back and stares up at the mould on the ceiling, lost in thought. Will there be a next time? The prospect of seeing any of them again doesn’t thrill him. But what’s the alternative? It’s not like he can just choose to be with Flint instead. Whatever he thinks he’s read, or might have read, in the Captain’s demeanour towards him, the odds must be seriously long on them ever becoming lovers. But now that he’s imagined all those intimate scenes and felt the power of them, the thought of never getting even close to that, never even feeling the Captain’s hand on his shoulder… it makes him want to hang his head over the side of the bed and be sick. Because what has Flint done, these past few days, but look through him? There have been no more invitations to the cabin, no more wine, no more books. 

He feels the freckled girl join him on the bed and turns to look at her. Her wide eyes are as bright as lamps. He’s forgotten her name already. Not that it matters. She reaches for his sleeping cock and circles her fingers around it. Her movements are uncertain, her brow furrowed with concentration. She is shaking slightly, he notices. He lets his eyes fall closed and tries to enjoy the feeling. But his gloom is so deep that his swelling erection almost seems to be taunting him. _‘Whatever pleases you’, she says. Nothing in here fucking pleases me._

How did this happen?! He was so happy before, so excited by his fantasies, so relieved to be one of the crew. Why is that no longer enough? There are men out there, good men who respect him, who call him their own. There’s prize money coming his way, too, and more freedom than he’s ever tasted in his short life. But his happiness now seems to be wholly dependent on one man, one day, putting a hand on his knee and giving him the eye. _Why can’t you just look up to him? Why do you have to bring him down to your level?_

Unsure what he’s doing, or why, Billy grabs the freckled girl’s hand and tosses it away. He’s suddenly irritated with her, with all of them, for being so unsatisfying. A man shouldn’t have to try so hard to enjoy himself in a fucking brothel! They need to please him more… he needs a counterweight to Flint. Do they sell men in these places, too? Probably not. He gazes at the shuttered window… plenty of them out there, though, easy enough to find one. Would that be better than this? It’s something to think on, but for now… is there some way he can make this stupid, quivering girl work for him?

He climbs on top of her and pushes his cock deep into her sex, unceremoniously. Too preoccupied to be smug that he’s done it without her help. She winces at the speed of his penetration, and he’s almost gratified by it. It’s a real reaction, at least. Better than all the pretence that went on earlier. He tries to thrust deeper inside her, but in doing so cracks his head against the headboard. 

“Fuck!... Hold on to me.” 

It costs him little effort to lift her and then set her down lower down the bed. She looks up at him, her grey eyes widening yet further, almost pleading with him to be tender, but his irritation only grows. His hands find her wrists, close around them, pin them down behind her head. Although it’s his mind that needs restraining, needs pinning down to this bed and this partner, not her.

She frowns and tries to adjust her position, but he only holds her tighter. Maybe he can’t make her please him, but he can make her feel as bad as he does. It's an ugly desire. There's heat in it, though. He fucks her, angrily, every thrust punishing her for being so young and fleshy and innocent, and not at all like the partner he wants. It must be uncomfortable for her, at the very least. Probably a lot worse than that. But she yields to him coldly, her eyes blank and distant. Jesus, if that were him, laying there… Flint restraining him… taking him this hard… giving him no choice in the matter… he’d love it, he’d love it, he’d fucking love it. What’s wrong with her?!

He keeps on going, his pleasure little more than a tickle, but growing steadily. Eventually her eyes drift away from him and her body goes entirely limp. He picks up speed.

“Look at me!”

She does, looking up at him with thinly-veiled dislike, and he feels his face contorting, feels himself getting close. _I don’t want you, I don’t want you, I want him!_  


He collapses against her, crushing her beneath him as he starts to release, straining to recapture the peace and happiness that settled on him earlier. But it’s a thin, empty feeling. It excites his cock but leaves the rest of him cold. A pale shadow of the first time. Afterwards he’s just weary and ashamed. He rolls off the girl and lies beside her, lacking the will to move, or even to think about where he should move to. Like a puppet with its strings cut, he has no life in him. 

The girl is sniffling, he notices. He reaches for her hand and squeezes it briefly, opens his mouth to whisper some justification, or apology, but before he can even think of the words, there’s a commotion on the landing; stumbling feet, laughter, a hailstorm of fists knocking the door.

“Billy!”

The girl leaps up and wraps a blanket around her… just in time, because it has dawned on his brothers that the door isn’t locked. And suddenly the room is full of men, grinning down at him, leering down at her. He recognises all of them. And he’s so, so happy to see them.

“He was holding her hand!”

“Billy’s in love!”

A few of the men break into song, then collapse into laughter. The girl reddens and scampers away like a mouse.

“Aaaw, don’t go!” More laughter.

Billy sits up, too quickly. The room lurches around him and pain blossoms, suddenly, behind his eyes. It’s as though he has broken through an invisible ceiling; below it he was sober, but above it he is simultaneously drunk and hung over. He curses and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Look at the state of him.” 

“You’re meant to get drunk _afterwards_ mate.”

Strong hands pull him to his feet. Someone slaps his bare arse. Someone else yanks his head down and scrubs the top of his scalp, affectionately, with a fist. Together, they pour ale into his mouth from their own bottles and flagons. Most of it spills over his chin and splashes onto his chest.

“Get him dressed.”

“Where’s your clothes Billy?”

Eventually they locate his trousers and shirt and make him decent, just about. His shirt is left hanging open and his boots are unlaced. He tries to lace them himself but can’t seem to make his fingers work as they should, so he gives up. With their arms around his shoulders, his brothers half carry him out of the room and down the stairs, their own legs threatening to give way at any moment. Finally, they dump him in an alcove seat. A circle of eager faces forms around him. 

“So Billy…” Hal Gates throws an arm around Billy’s shoulders, “how did you find the ladies?”

The circle of men draws closer, a ring of burning eyes and lascivious grins. Billy swallows. His mouth opens. He frowns. “They were…” he reaches desperately for the right thing to say, finding almost nothing in his mind that is safe to communicate. “They were ladies.”

Gates bursts out laughing, then grabs Billy’s face in one big hand and squeezes his cheeks together. “You’re not wrong there!” Now all the men piss themselves laughing, but Billy doesn’t care. He doesn’t even squirm. Even drunk, he can tell friendly laughter from mocking laughter. Somehow he’s just endeared himself to them, still further. Though he doesn’t know how. They make a pet of him all evening, and he lets them. He laughs with them, sings with them, drinks with them, pisses in the alley with them, staggers onto the beach with them. And when he falls down onto the sand and blacks out, he does so in the knowledge that his brothers are close by, watching out for him. He loves them, all of them. And they love him back. 

If only that could somehow be enough.


End file.
